


Here Stands a Man

by TheGrayPlaces



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - Civil War, Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: After that it all goes to shit, At least up to Civil War, Basically just me being an asshole to Tony and hating myself for it, Canon Compliant, F/M, Grief/Mourning, Hurt Tony Stark, Post-Civil War (Marvel), Sorry I'm not psychic, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-13
Updated: 2018-02-17
Packaged: 2018-10-04 11:49:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 1,202
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10277057
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheGrayPlaces/pseuds/TheGrayPlaces
Summary: Tony told himself he wouldn't let what was on the tape destroy him. Told himself he was stronger than this, he could get through it unscathed.He was wrong.*****Collection of short snapshots depicting Tony dealing with the aftermath of Civil War





	1. Cracks

**Author's Note:**

> Hi, there! Thanks for reading! If you have any questions (or statements, statements work too) please please PLEASE comment! I live on feedback and get super discouraged if I don't get any. Even nasty feedback is better than no feedback - if you hate it, let me know. If you think I should take it down and burn all traces of it, let me know. I don't mind. I just want to improve.
> 
> That said, if you really don't have anything to say, don't sweat it. I just hope you enjoy :)
> 
> Thanks for listening,  
> ~Shea

Tony Stark was unbreakable. Always had been. His father had made sure to beat all traces of fragility out of him, not with his fists but with his words. Words that tore deep gouges in Tony and hurt him so much more than physical blows ever could. 

But it worked. Any weakness Tony had been born with was gone by the time his parents died. It was a good thing, too, because the loss of his mother, the only person in the world who had ever really, _really _loved him, would have ruined him. Nothing could ruin him now. That’s what unbreakable meant.__

But. 

When he saw the date on that tape, saw the unmistakable road, something chipped inside him. Something important. And when he watched Barnes’s hand close around his mother’s throat, squeezing the light out of her eyes, that chip turned into a crack. And the harder something is, the faster the cracks spread. 

He spends the next few weeks denying it, but he knows. Knows what he won’t admit to himself. Knows that the dusty, unassuming tape did the one thing he thought could never be done. It had broken the unbreakable. He, Tony Stark, is broken. And he has no idea in hell how he’s supposed to piece himself back together.


	2. Spiraling

The bed’s too big without Pepper. Too cold. So he sleeps downstairs in the lab, surrounded on all sides by glass and metal. He takes comfort in the hard lines, the glaring, clean-white lights. Takes comfort in the stoic, lifeless sentries that have become his silent family, the only conceivable remedy to his brokenness. If he throws himself into his work, if he takes his mind off the tape, maybe he can convince himself it was a nightmare. A horrible, vivid nightmare. 

He doesn’t realize what he’s doing until he smashes his latest suit to pieces, blasting it into a heap of smoldering metal before stripping off his suit and beating his bare fists bloody on the jagged wreckage. Doesn’t realize what he’s doing until his eyes catch on the spot of vibrant red nestled in the black-burned silver and he pulls it out, his vision darkening around the edges as he stares at the star, the goddamn fucking star painted on the detached shoulder plate of the ruined suit, a near-perfect replica of the original star emblazoned in his parents’ blood.

Disgusted, he throws the scrap of metal across the lab and shoves savagely at Dummy, who appears at his side proffering a tube of Neosporin and gauze. “Clean that up,” he growls, and sits heavily on the stool next to his workbench. Picks up his tools.

And the cycle resets.


	3. Numb

He’s not surprised when the first person to visit him is Natasha. It was really only ever a question of how long it’d take her to turn up. She walks into the lab like she owns the place, the authoritative click of her boot heels announcing her presence long before she even opens the door. 

He doesn’t want her here, doesn’t want her to see him like this. There’s too much there, too much history clouding the water. He doesn’t want her to think he’s weak.

But she doesn’t say anything, just takes his bandaged hand and leads him gently but purposefully away from the metal on the workbench, the tangle of unadorned silver waiting patiently for its star so he can feel something, feel _anything _. He’s gone through so much material, so much time and energy, and he has nothing to show for it but scrap metal and knuckles webbed with scar tissue.__

He doesn’t resist when she guides him up the stairs and into the elevator, unhooking the penthouse key from his belt loop and punching in the numbers. He should be surprised she knows how to get up to the penthouse, knows which key to choose. Should be a bit nervous, even. After all, he has never for a moment been cocky enough to believe she couldn’t rip him in half with her tiny hands, and now she knows where he sleeps.

But he feels none of these things. He just feels numb. He’s been here before, he’s no stranger to numb. But this time, for what may be the first time in his life, he doesn’t feel the need to force himself to feel with whores and booze. Not because he’s above that kind of behavior, because he most definitely is not, but because he doesn’t _want _to feel. He’d rather not feel anything at all for the rest of his life than face any emotion other than the blind rage that punctuates his numbness and drives him to do reckless things like build suits just to wreck them.__

The elevator door opens and he follows Natasha compliantly to the long leather sofa. He waits for her to chastise him, pity him, even mock him, but she doesn’t. She just sits down next to him, close enough so he can feel her warmth but not close enough to touch him, and closes her eyes. And she stays like that, the both of them just _being _, for hours. And when she finally leaves, without having said a single word to him since she arrived, Tony realizes he feels something that isn’t anger, or grief, or self-hatred. It’s calm.__

She’s already gone, but he still whispers thank you into the darkness.


	4. Legacy

“You need to go outside, Tony.”

“Like Hell I do.”

“Tony, this isn’t a joke. You can’t stay locked up in the lab forever, it’s not healthy.”

“And since when do I give a shit about being healthy?”

“I’m starting to worry about you.”

“You and everyone else, apparently. Did you know Natasha came to visit me last night? Isn’t she supposed to be in hiding?”

“Don’t change the subject. This is important. How much weight have you lost? Ten pounds? Fifteen?”

“Thirty-seven. Give or take.”

“That’s exactly what I’m saying. You’re killing yourself, Tony, and it’s not helping anything. Do you really think your mother would want you to do this to yourself? Is that what she wanted her legacy to be?”

 

 

 

“Tony, I-”

“Get the _fuck_ out of my house, Rhodes.”


	5. No Exceptions

__He sits in silence for hours after Rhodey leaves, staring blankly at the wall. Every twenty minutes or so Friday checks on him, and every twenty minutes or so he brushes her off. He’s fine, he says, he just needs a minute. She doesn’t believe him, but she leaves him be.

It isn’t until she has given up trying to get him to talk that he stands up, squares his shoulders, and announces that from this day forward, no one is allowed in without his express permission. No exceptions.

“Of course. Will that be all, Boss?”

Tony flinches like he’s been burned. _Will that be all, Mr. Stark?_ “Yes, that’ll be all. Thank you, Friday.”

He locks himself in the lab and stays there, sleeping on his workbench with his head cradled on newly bloodied hands.


	6. Just One

“Hey, Friday.”

“Yes, Boss?”

“Maybe one exception.”

“And would that exception be Miss Romanov?”

“Yeah. Yeah, it would. Thanks, kid.”

“No problem, Boss. I think you made the right choice.”

"Yeah. Me too."

**Author's Note:**

> Muse(ic) is The War by SYML


End file.
